Fate
by Daring Dashwood
Summary: A Majora's Mask Fic. As the moon steadily decends on Clock Town, the impeading doom practically suffocating the townsfolk, Link muses about his predestined life. Very light spoilers.


Fate

One-shot

_A Majora's Mask Fanfic_

_Rating: T for language_

_--_

He wearily watched the people of Clock Town bustle about, trying their best to pretend that everything is normal, that this might not be the last day of their life. Each one of them, from the postman to the two juggling brothers had large, fake smiles sloppily plastered on their faces, successfully masking their fear and hysteria from the blissful children of the humble Clock Town.

Despite the fact that they were pretending, all of them knew that this is how they would die; screaming and crying pitifully as the fireworks exploding in the darkness were devoured by the incoming moon, and the last thing them seeing on this poor, pathetic planet was the leering face of the moon, laughing as them and their town went up in flames.

He had to give the townsfolk credit, though; the people of Hyrule were chicken hearted weaklings. As soon as they got the first whiff of danger they all vanished to Kakario, not even attempting to defend the land they grew up on, allowing Gannondorf and his minions to invade with ease.

—His mind briefly flashed to a moment in another world, another time. A memory of a wounded soldier, crimson blood spilling generously out onto the ground and dying the boy's trembling arms, begging the sobbing boy to save the princess and _he's not moving anymore_—

Pity ripped through the boy's heart as he watched the soldiers, yearning to leave the damned town for the hope of living to see another day, yet at the same time willing to die for the stubborn, foolish townsfolk who blithely believe that someone will swoop in at the very last second and save them.

That was where he came in, right?

A dark chuckle, devoid of mirth, passed through his ashen lips. Yes, that was his predestined role in life—to be the fated hero, and for two separate lands, to boot.

He must admit, though, there was no denying the fact that Hyrule and Termia were linked. Termia was, in a sense, a parallel universe of Hyrule. Or was it the other way around?

Regardless, he had been the chosen one, the whole course of his life determined before he was even a babe in the arms of his dying mother as she offered him up to the sacred Great Deku Tree.

His hand curled in a fist, shaking with barely restrained fury. As much as he'd like to say that he saved Hyrule because he wanted to, because he believed it was the right thing to do, deep down he knew it was a sniveling, bald-faced lie.

The Hylian sometimes wished that he wasn't the chosen hero of the goddesses, that he wasn't even born to keep the maddening and endless cycle of the three fated ones still in motion.

And what was the point of it all, really? Granted, the people of Hyrule adored him when he was saving their sorry asses, but when all is said and done, he is back to being a lowly peasant, to be looked upon with utter disdain and contempt as he begged for food and shelter.

He winced as his sharp fingernails dug deep into his palm, dotting crescent shaped gouges along the calloused flesh. Prying his fingers off, he flinched slightly as the cool morning air assailed the open wounds. The Triforce of Courage branded onto his left hand glowed, forcing the sinewy fibers to knot themselves together once more.

Yes, he mused, staring at the mark, it was a brand. A brand that marked him as the tool of Farore, and nothing more.

Sky blue eyes focused in on the queer, ridiculously intricate clock, shifting and turning its gears in the first light of morning. He had a gift when it came to puzzles, so discerning the clocks was never a problem.

He had twenty-four hours.

Only one more day to tie up all the loose ends; the ranch needed saving from a damn alien invasion, Kafei and Anju needed to be untied once again, and he had to stop the moon and defeat Majora.

Damn fate.

He honestly, completely, _naively_ thought that after restoring Hyrule to peace and order, the goddesses would reward him for his efforts and never bother him again. But, _no_, they couldn't have that. They couldn't let him live in the peace that he _earned _through blood, sweat, and tears; couldn't grant him a single taste of the succulent fruits of his labor.

No, after going through all the shit that he did, he had to save _another _doomed land practically as soon as Zelda sent him back to his original time.

And he couldn't just leave and let these people die; the goddesses knew that. They knew that they had to choose a weak child that was susceptible to the sway of fate; one who knew full well that he was plowing into their snare, but did it anyway because of the people.

Whenever he would try to turn the master sword onto himself or drown himself in Lake Hylia, faces would haunt him and swarm his vision. The faces of people of all sorts of races and forms, faces who loved him, who were his beloved and trusted friends, many who _died_ with his name the last utterance on their lips, would surface to his mind.

So he had no choice but to save Termia and hope against hope that the goddesses would eventually tire of toying with him and move on to someone else. He was tired, so tired, and not because he's stayed up for two days straight in this place, but a different type of tired. He has honestly nothing left to give, but he is constantly ravished for more and more.

Time passed as he mused, the sun on its way behind the hills again. The fairy that he used to replace Navi (he really didn't care what her name was) kept shrieking in his ear, asking why he wasn't running around trying to save Termia.

Eventually the night fell, the moon crashing down upon Termia. He fingered his ocarina, brought it up to his lips, but hesitated, his breath ghosting the cool stone. He lifted it high above his head and with all his strength hurled it at the ground, a demented glee bubbling up as he watched it shatter into thousands of irreparable fragments.

"Link! What are you doing?! Link!" the fairy screamed, but he was gone, so far gone, that he couldn't hear it or any other the other panicked shrieks echoing throughout Clock Town.

And he looked up into the burning mass of rock, and outstretched his arms towards it.

In his moment of madness, he cried, "Take me! For the love of sanity, _take me!_"

Flames engulfed him, and he felt no pain, only blissful relief as the weight of his duties lifted as darkness claimed him.

--

Long Hylian ears twitched as they picked up the faint hum of gears, shifting and turning in an endless cycle.

His eyes snapped open frantically, stilling when he saw the Happy Mask Man hovering over his prone form.

And then he knew.

He knew that he was still alive, that _they wouldn't let him die _until his duty was fulfilled.

And the agony inside Link's eyes was reflected in those of the Happy Mask Man, and he grinned at the hero knowingly.

"_You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?"_

Damn straight.

-fin-

Because I would feel pretty jaded if I was set up like this, too. The Zelda series never really delves into the reality of a hero's tale, how there are moment of doubt, insecurity, insanity. This story is kind of droll and my writing style is something terrible, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

-bleu-blizzard-


End file.
